


Quite Unexpectedly

by MissPixyStick



Category: Neko no Ongaeshi | The Cat Returns, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Cats, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Romance, Sherlock swears a lot, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-14 08:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7162730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissPixyStick/pseuds/MissPixyStick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Always believe in yourself. Do this and no matter where you are, you will have nothing to fear.”</p><p>Now Sherlock wasn't always one for proper manners but even he knew laughing into the face of the tiny cat doll was most likely the wrong respose. It's best to just smile and nod his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This was not a fairytale.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve taken some artist liberties in this story. The original source is fantastic, but it didn’t scream Sherlock. If you haven’t seen the movie or read the graphic novel I would you suggest you do. They are both adorable and delightful.

_“If you’re troubled by something mysterious or a problem that’s hard to solve, there’s a place you can go where you always find help._

_You just need to look for it.”_

There’s a pounding on his door, skin against wood. Someone is shouting on the other side but he can’t be bothered to really listen, much to warn out from his late night. He had been studying to effects that acid had on the different items around his house. A practically melted fork rest on his left end table, he’s tempted to hawk it at the door.

There’s a shrieking down the hall, his brothers alarm clock. He looks to his own, vision still blurry it takes him a moment to make out the red numbers.

He softy groans when he sees it’s only 20 past 5, school isn’t for another 3 hours, why is he being awoken so early?

The pounding has stopped; the sharp click of a heel replaces it. Whoever it was has clearly decided that he is a lost cause, smart. He rolls over to stare at his ceiling, it’s covered in glow in the dark stars barely shine anymore. They have been up there for longer then he can remember and that says something because he can remember everything.

He can hear the pipes rattle, the rush of water and it hitting porcelain. He knows that he has 15 more minutes to remain in bed before some other poor soul is sent to fetch him. He considers barring the door, maybe pushing his burrow up against it. The idea doesn’t fully form before he’s tugging his duvet over his head and drifting off again.

~

When he does make it downstairs it’s quiet, not the clink of a dish or the shuffle of feet as someone packs their bag for the day. He shouldn’t be surprised, really, he’s use to it just being him. He honestly can’t remember the last time he had seen his mother, always running about that one. And his father, who even knows with that man. One crisis after another.

There’s nothing for him in the kitchen, not that he would eat it anyway. He briefly wonders what it would be like to come down and have breakfast with his family. What would they talk about? Would his parents ask how his schooling is going? How are his friends fairing? He waves a dismissive hand in the air, getting rid of that ridiculous thought.

He spares a thought of skipping classes, but he had been promised use of the lab and that might help fight some of the boredom, plus he distinctly remembers seeing some pig eyes in a jar lingering about on a shelf.

~

8:00 finds him standing in front of the mirror that resides in the entry hall, his eyes are taking in his face. When had he gotten so pale? Straighten his uniform jacket he can’t help but notice how lanky he is, to tall and to skinny. Unruly curls top it all, untamable no matter what he tries.

His eyes travel up to the clock that rest on the wall above the front door, it’s 8:05. If he doesn’t leave now, he will be late. Nothing new there. He continues to examine his features.

At 8:15 he finally determines that nothing can be done about himself and he’s out the door, he slams it because he can and no is there to tell him not to.

He walks down the path way, down the driveway where he momentarily stops to light a cigarette. He inhales the toxic mix into his already scarred lungs before venturing onward.

~

The minute he steps on school grounds he knows he’s made a mistake, already there are people glaring at him, idiots the lot of them. Really it’s not his fault they can’t handle the truth or the fact that he leagues above them.

“Freak,” someone says to his left, he ignores them.

Squaring his shoulders, he marches across the blacktop, back straight and eyes hard. He will not allow these people to get to him, he is better than that, better than them. The door handle is cold against his palm, before he can pull there’s a hand halting him.

“Holmes,” Sebastian Wilkes sneers at him, “you do the chemistry homework?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ to really piss off the wanker.

“No?” Sebastian eyes turn cold, “Why the hell not?”

Sherlock is actually confused for a moment. Why hadn’t he done the homework? Well he had more important things to do last night. He hadn’t wanted to waste his time on something he already knew.

“I didn’t feel like it.”

“Didn’t feel…” Sebastian’s eyes widen, “What am I supposed to do now?”

 “Don’t know, don’t care,” he says as nonchalantly as he can.

“Listen here you little twat, if you’re lying to me I will destroy you,” Sebastian hisses out, spittle forming in the corners of his mouth. He’s poking Sherlock viciously in the chest.

With a sigh Sherlock rolls his eyes upwards, “That so?” He brings his hand up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He probably should have been paying attention, maybe then he could have avoided landing on his tailbone. That’s going to turn purple by tonight. His hand finds the tender spot and rubs gently while looking up to catch Sebastian routing through his bag.

The lard smirks when his hands wrap around Sherlock’s fags, damn he had just stolen those from his brothers.

His bag is thrown to a ground, smokes pocketed and a door opening, he’s alone again.

The school bell chimes as he falls back against the warm cement.

 Lovely day so far.

~

When he did finally manage to drag himself up he had already missed the first 12…13 minutes of class, so not much.

He’s not sure why he tried to sneak in, entertainment? But he does and the attempt fails spectacularly. He had thought he was in the clear when he had made it three desks in, thought his teacher was to distracted lecturing the class about…protons? Who knows, it wasn’t like he was going to pay attention once he reached his seat anyway.

He’s was almost there, inches away when everything shatters around him, “Mr. Holmes, you are causing a disturbance. SO if you would please just take your seat.”

He shot up. Damn, his face felt like it was on fire, he could feel all of his peer’s eyes on him, “Yes, sir.”

He rushed to his chair as the laughter began, he looked around and saw Victor Trevor laughing. With a sigh he put his head and prayed for the world to open up and swallow him.

~

Why him? Why is it that he was dealt the shit hand?

Sherlock rest his forehead against the cool metal of his locker, Christ could this day get any worse?

Not only had Sebastian stolen his already thieved cigarettes but Victor had laughed at him and he had gotten kicked out of the lab before he could make anyway use of it.

It’s wasn’t his fault that his lump of a teacher had forgotten to mention that he was going to be using. And just because he was in that supply closet doesn’t mean he was going to steal anything, borrow maybe. Just a few things to work on something at home. Still that didn’t warrant getting dragged to the headmasters’ office. Complete nonsense if you asked him.

But no one was asking him, they were assuming they knew the entire story, when in reality a huge chunk was missing. Isn’t that how it always went with him?

He could really use a smoke, instead he gets a woman gasping. Not at him though, strange. He looks towards the sound.

From his vantage point he see the most unusually thing, a cat coming down the steps of a shop, it’s glossy gray fur shining under the light of the sun. In its mouth it’s carrying a wrapped parcel, a bright red ribbon decorates the outside, a bow on top is the perfect handle.

The cat is walking down the sideway in quick strides, it’s paws barely touching the ground. Determination can be read in the way the cats back sits, he has someplace to be and there is no time to waste.

Sherlock watches as the odd little thing walks past him, turning a bit left before stopping at the edge of the pavement. It scans the street, looking both ways before stepping off. The light turns green.

Sherlock can almost guarantee he has never seen anything like the before. What kind of cat checks the traffic before crossing a street?

Whatever, it’s not his concern. With a shrug he turns forward again and takes a step. He freezes, something was nagging him. With a sigh he turns back to towards the spectacle, just watching until he’s assured the thing makes it across safely.

Almost instantly he sees it, a Mack truck is barreling down the road, the cat is caught in the middle. His tiny package has dropped to the road. He grabs at it only for it to fall again, he inclines again and loses his grip. It rolls a bit under its furred belly, landing on the top. A nudge of the nose does close to nothing. The truck is so close; it’s small body will be crushed in a matter of seconds if Sherlock doesn’t do something.

He doesn’t recall moving, really it’s all one big blur. He was standing on the sidewalk, school bag in hand and the next thing he knows he’s sprinting into the street. Car horns blare around him as he rushes forward. Hands reaching down to scoop up the cat that’s finally reclaimed its prize. He catches the scruff on the back of its neck, the heat of the trucks engine burns the side of his face as he charges.

~

In retrospect he should have seen this coming. He should have known he would have landed arse end up in the mud on the other side of the street. His mouth is full of dirt and he can bruises startling to blossom under the clothing that is torn. He should have let the little shit get squished.

Getting his hands under him is a task in its own right, arms shaky and palms bloody he can’t decide if it’s worth the effort to get up at all. Panting and sweating, finally he’s still back on his knees, he gulping down sips of air. His eyes had fall closed at some point, he can feel something trickle down the side of his face.

“Fucking hell,” he says as he runs the back of his hand over his forehead. “Consider yourself lucky cat, could have been another smear on the asphalt.”

He opens his eyes then to see how the creature is fairing. He groans because of course the thing is standing on his hind legs, brushing his fur to get rid of any dirt.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he whispers as he stares.

The cat is running its paw over it face when he notices Sherlock looking his way, his mismatched eyes find Sherlock’s, a smile creeps onto his muzzle. (Can a cat smile?)

“That was amazing. Your bravery has allowed me another day; I am so thankful.”

Sherlock is speechless. This cat, this animal that walks on four legs is talking to him. Thanking him for saving its life, calling him brave. And while he would argue against that, seeing as it was less brave and more crazy, so fucking crazy, he can’t seem to make the words come out, they are stuck in his throat.

“You have not sustained to many injuries I hope.”

Sherlock can feel his head shaking, because suddenly the cut on his forehead and bruised knees are worth it. Anything would be worth this.

“I’m sorry but I must run, I’ve already lost so much time,” he says as he bows toward him. Sherlock finds himself answering the bow with one of his own. “I shall find you again to give you a proper thanks.”

“I…Uh…that’s fine?” Sherlock stammers out.

With that the cat picks up the tiny box and slides in-between to metal rails. It looks back once, nods its head before disappearing around a corner. Sherlock can’t do anything but watch it leave.

~

He’s not entirely sure how much time passes, seconds? Minutes? Hours? Before a weight appears on his right shoulder. He looks up to see a red faced man glaring at him, his school bag hangs limply in the man’s right hand.

“What the hell where you thinking?”

“It talked.”

“What talked?” the man says as concern overtakes his eyes.

“That…” he begins but quickly he snaps his mouth shuts. It won’t do any good telling people about what he has just experienced.

“You okay kid?

Sherlock opts to ignore him, instead he returns his eyes to the corner. He feels his bag hit his leg when the man drops it at his side. Still he stares.

~

The house is quiet, tends to be during the day, he expected nothing less.

What he didn’t expect is to find his brother pacing the length of the living room, his cell phone is plastered to the side of his head and he’s talking in a hushed tone. He lays his bag by the door and steps further into the room

“No, no it will be much to late then,” he says as he spies Sherlock in the rooms opening, he acknowledges his presences with a nod. “Tomorrow should be fine.” He answers the person on the other side of the line, “Yes, good evening to you too.”

With that he presses ‘end call’ and tucks the thing into the back pocket of his trousers. He then moves over to the coffee table to rifle through the papers that are strewn about the surface.

He watches his brothers back move, allowing his thoughts to drift back to this afternoon.

As he turns over the events he had just witnessed in his mind he actually does wonder if he might be losing it. A talking cat? What kind of nut really thought that was possible? Well he did, but according to the school he wasn’t the best source to go to if you wanted the truth.

Still he wants to tell someone what he had seen. He wants to it to spill from his lips because right about his mind is overflowing with information he just can’t process on his own. Also there’s a tiny bit of him that wants to be praised for saving that cat.

Minutes pass and it doesn’t sound any less crazy. Finally, he takes a deep breath and speaks, what can it hurt?

“Sherrinford,” he whispers. His hands are in nonstop motion, griping and pulling at his jacket.

His brother makes a noise that might have been a ‘hmm’, but he can’t really tell. It’s enough for him to keep talking.

“Can animals talk?”

He sees his brother go still, hand hover over the notes he had been examining, “Animals?” He doesn’t look at Sherlock nor does he go back to his work.

“Cats specifically.”

This gets his brother to turn around, all his attention is now focused on Sherlock, “Can cats talk?”

Sherlock nods.

“Well maybe…,” he shakes his head. “No, that’s absurd.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is.”

“Why?” He snaps, anger starting to coat his words.

His bother has either not notices the tone change or is choosing to ignore it (Sherlock leans towards the latter) because he goes on speaking as if he hadn’t heard Sherlock, “You’ve asked me that before.”

This shocks Sherlock for some reason, surely he should be able to recall this. Honestly how many times in your life do you find yourself talking to cats?

“Have I?”

“Oh yes,” his brother murmurs, a wisp of a smile appearing at the corner of his lips. “You were 6. Mother had asked me, really ordered, to pick you up from your violin lesson. Tedious.” Sherlock finds himself chuckling, they had been tedious. Though that didn’t stop him from playing, no matter how boring he had found his instructor he continued to endure it. He had fallen in love with a haunting melodies and happy jigs he could manipulate from the instrument.

“Anyway when I showed up you were already waiting on the stoop and you weren’t alone. There was this kitten, a filthy little thing. More dirt then furs, but you were smiling so hugely. I couldn’t bring to mind the last time you had smiled like that at anything.

“I was amazed. Not only had this tufted gotten you to smile but apparently it had wormed some treats from you to. You were holding out your hands to feed it those little orange fish crackers.”

His brothers smile grew more and more as he continued the story. Sherlock could almost see the scene playing behind his eyes.

“The kitten meowed at you and you giggled like mad. I called your name after that, you turned towards me still smiling. Before you actually came though you bent down, whispered something in the triangle ear and gave it the rest of your snack.

“God, you were almost vibrating out of your skin when you reached me. I felt like I could see the excitement surging through your veins.”

“Why was I excited?” Curiosity had finally won over staying silent.

“You wanted to tell me that the kitten had talked to you.”

“I did?”

“Indeed.”

_“Brother! That kitten talked me! With actual words I understood!”_

_“Oh yeah? What did it have to tell you?”_

_“It said that life is tough.”_

_“Clever little thing.”_

“Why don’t I remember this?”

His brother answer is interrupted by his phone ringing. The moment is must be over because he doesn’t hesitate to remove it from his pocket and bring it to his ear.

He doesn’t even stay in the room for this call, it carries out and up the stairs. Sherlock is left with so many more questions than answers.

As his linger on the spot his brother had just been occupying his stomachs growl but he doesn’t think he could eat anything even if he wanted to.

~

He had retreated to his room after the ‘heart to heart’ with his brother. Maybe it had been a mistake to talk with him, he hadn’t really helped in the slightest. He had left him more confused, more unsure that this had been a reaction to something. Stress of the day maybe? Could have been he had gotten a whiff of something in that supply closest that had messed with his brain. He wanted it to be something he could explain, something that was logical. Not this, this left him nearly sick with all the unknown factors.

It was quite possible he was finally going mad.

He wanted to scream, shout until his voice was gone. Instead he reached for his violin, if he couldn’t yell he would play. He would play until his fingers were bloody or break or completely abandoned him entirely. He would keep going even after that, blood would could the strings, coat the wood and he wouldn’t stop for a second.

He rested his chin on it, brought the bow and began.

Flight of the bumblebee seemed to be the only piece that could keep up with the thoughts racing around his skull.

~

Night had fallen when he felt it, a shiver down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and the world seemed to come alive outside of his window.

He didn’t race over, he gently placed his violin back in its case and snapped it shut. It was only then did he tip toe over to the panes of glasses to investigate what was happening below.

All the street lights started to go out one by one, odd that doesn’t usually happen until the first rays of the sun hit the street.

He pressed his face to the smooth surface, his breath fogged against it. He could almost make out something, it looked like a persuasion. Precession? But it was after… he glanced at the clock on his beside, midnight. It was almost after midnight; what kind of parade goes down the street at this time?

As he watched the steady match he noticed the neighborhood cats taking a distinct interest in the proceedings. They were literally coming from everything, under porches, rooftops, backyards even a few garbage cans. 

He eventually discovered why all the strays of the street were clamoring to join in the cavalcade because from his viewing position he saw cats…more cats…royal looking cats. That can’t be…yet there it was.

Coming down the road was a parade of cats, standing on their hind legs walking as a unit. Two by two. Along the side ran a few black cats, they were collecting the strays and tossing away from the for formal breeds.  Some held lanterns to light the way, while others played different instruments.

Oh fun, this was definitely for him.

As fast as his legs could take him he ran from his room, down the stairs and out of the front door. He didn’t stop until he reached the end of the drive, he bent over with his hands on his knees trying to gain his breath back.

He raised his head in time to see the group stopping, there in front of him stood a cat, an important cat? Had to be judging by the fact it was being carried on a litter (real word for that). Four unlucky cats were holding it up, one for each corner. The king(?) cat had an odd looking bobble sitting on his forehead, maybe an eye? Sherlock couldn’t be sure from where he was standing. He seemed to have more fur then the rest of the lot, deep black with a bit of white under his nose.  To the right of him stood a cat with slate fur, dressed completely, he looked quite smart in his navy robe, tiny glasses sat atop his nose and in his paws he held what looked like a clipboard. To his left there lingered a cat with born fur, his ears were turned down and he was nude. He had a scroll cradled against his lean body.

The dressed one approached him when they all paused, he cleared his throat and began to address him.

“Would be please step closer?” Sherlock’s eyes grew wide as he pointed to himself, “Yes you, there is no one else.”

Cautiously he took a step towards them, still keeping a bit of distance between them and himself in case he needed to make a quick getaway.

“Closer…”  He shuffled his feet a bit, the cat sighed. “Fine, doesn’t matter. Please allowed me to introduce you to our wise and incredibly magnificent ruler King of Cat Kingdom. King Mortartiy.”

The king looked his way then, slowly turning his head, his eyes heavy lidded, “Charmed, darling.”

“Let it be known that on this day the cat you saved was none other than the king’s only son Prince Greg. And given how serious this is the king only felt it was right to come express his gratitude in person.”

The kind blinked slowly, “Appreciated, dear.”

That did it, it seemed that was all it took for Sherlock to laugh at the ridiculousness he was facing. He was startled into stopped when the cat with the scroll thrusted into his face.

“This is a list of what you shall be giving in the following days.” He tentatively reached out to grasp the rolled up paper.

When it was removed from his arms the brown cat began to speak, “Starting tomorrow be ready to get showered upon with many lovely things!” His chubby arms were thrown into the air to emphasize his point.

“Thank you?”

“Toodles, lovey”

With that they began to move again, it seems this little meeting had concluded and they needed to be somewhere else.

Sherlock stood there frozen, watching them travel down the street and out of sight. With the very last one gone he turned and headed back towards his house.

Shaking his head, he finally figured it out, he truly was mad and he needed sleep.

For a few years, at least.

~

When his eyes open the next morning he has to laugh at his dreams from the night. Cat Kings? What a marvelously silly thing.

He lays there’s trying to regain the dream that keeps escaping his hands. He’s almost sure he has it in his grasp when a sudden yell vanquish all hope of capturing its remnants.

“Sherlock!”

Oh that’s not good, very not good.

It’s his mother, his mother who should have been out of the house by now, his mother who is yelling at him to ‘get downstairs this instant’.

Mental check list, what could he have possibly done?

Mold on the food? No, he cleaned that out last week. Acid experiment? Can’t be, the missed silver shouldn’t be discovered for three more days at least.

He bites his lower lip and thinks hard. It hits him then, the school.

What if the headmaster had called about him being in the lab yesterday? Bugger.

He’s out of bed in a flash, duvet whirling around him like a cloth tornado, he nearly trips over it in his haste. His door is thrown open so hard that he is sure there will be a chunk of plaster missing from the wall behind it.

“Mum!” He needs to start explaining for before he even sees her face, “Look I had permission to be there! No matter what that twat says!”

His feet hit the floor of the first floor and he’s stunned that he doesn’t find his mother hovering over him, more so that she seems to be gaping at something that lays outside the front door.

As quietly as he can he slides up behind her to look over her shoulder, he gets it now because he finds himself in the same state as the woman he’s standing behind.

A gently wind comes by at the exactly moment and he watches transfixed has the entire lawn sways with it.

“Cattails?” He mumbles, because he can’t not question what he is seeing.

There nearly slapping him in the face is a yard covered in cattails, from front door to mail box. Not an inch left uncovered.

“Is this your doing?” His mother sounds just as awed as he is but unlike him there is a harsh under tone to her words.

“My doing? How could I have done this?”

“I don’t know Sherlock!” Her hand comes up to pinch the space between her eyes, “Experiment?”

“What?” He’s taken aback. Is she really trying to blame him for this…this…he doesn’t know what this is. He just knows he had nothing to do with it.

“Sherlock just tell me th- “

He cuts her off before she can even finish the sentence, “I didn’t do this!” His hands are clutched into fist, balled so tight that his knuckles are turning white.

“Then who did, if not you?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

His shoulders shake when he does an about face, “Fuck if I know.” And with that he’s running upstairs. He can hear his mother sputtering behind him at his choice of language, he can’t find it in him to care.

He needs to get ready for school.

~

His mother is nowhere to be seen when he is once again stepping off the stairs. He doesn’t check to see if she’s nearby, he just dashes to the door. Fingertips snagging his bag before it closed behind him.

Once he’s free of the confines of his home he feels he can actually inspect the planets that have seems to pop up overnight. It’s quite a phenomenon what he really puts some thought into it. How can it even be feasible?

He lets his hand drop to graze the tops as he strolls by, there’s movement ahead. Something it coming through the tall stalks. Before he can even begin to work himself up in a panic and cat pops out. He thinks it might be Toby, Mrs. Hudson’s.

It makes a beeline to him and starts to rub itself against his legs, he has a smile at it.

“Hey boy, “he reaches down to stroke the sun warmed fur, “I had a dream about your kind last night.”

The cuddle session goes on for a bit when it comes to an abrupt stop thanks to the tapping against the window behind him. He peeks over his shoulder to see his brother pointing at his watch, he growls.

“Apologies but I must be off.”

He stands, slaps at his pants and starts to move. Only it appears he will be having a companion on this trip, Toby has decided to follow him. That’s bizarre. It gets weird when 4 more cats join in and it’s tipping into bizarre when it’s 30.

He’s running now. There’s a herd of cats chasing after him, hot on his heels. Bloody hell! He thought it was just the humans on this planet that had it out for him but it seems he was wrong! The cats have some weird vendetta again him too!

What is going on?

His sanctuary comes in the form of a bland looking building about 15 feet ahead, school. He’s never been so happy to see this awful place.

He picks up speed and crosses on the property in no time, the cats are relentless.

“Holmes! No Pets on school grounds!”

“What?” He looks around for the source of the voice. “These aren’t mine!”

He should feel more bad then he does when he finally gets inside and holds the door shut, 40 fleabags left to smash into it, piling up on top of each other.

He reckons smirking is not the right response to this mayhem.

~

He leaves them behind to wail and scratch at the glass. 

Once again he is the enjoyment of his chums, he can feel their eyes burning his back as he makes his way to his locker.

One morning, just one, is that so much to ask for.  He gets a reply rather speedy and he had thought the universe wasn’t timely.

He reaches his locker and begins to put in his code, he stops himself once, twice, thrice times from saying out loud that, “It couldn’t get worse.”

Even he knows that can only lead to chaos.

Irrelevant really because even before he has his locker all the way open little pink boxes are tumbling out. That’s worrying.

He bends at the waist to take a closer look and it could be just him but from this angle they seem to be moving? Oh yes, they are moving.

And they are popping open?

He can’t find words fast enough to express the situation that he has found himself in. Around his feet hundreds of mice are escaping the boxes and running free.

A few jump into some open bags, a couple in other student’s lockers and about half run towards the girl’s restroom whose door just happened to pick the worst time to open.

As he watches the vermin scurry away he can’t help but feel disappointed that he has nothing to catch a few. The likely hood that the school will let him keep them is slim to none.

Seem unfair really, they were in his locker after all.

~

When he manages to get to his first period he immediately gets to work. Sitting down he fishes the scroll from his bag and unrolls it.

“No dream?” He’s not sure what to feel about this turn of events. He’s not sure about a lot of things anymore more.

The closer he looks at it he notices something, something that makes him feel unbelievably stupid. It was all right here. All the surprises that seem to be finding him are here, these things are his…gifts?

“Cattails, cat nip, mice…” He murmurs to himself.

There are a few symbols he can’t make out, perhaps when he gets home later he’ll be able to analyze it in more details. His attention is so taken by the scroll that he fails to see what it happening.

“Holmes,” someone jeers at him.

He won’t admit he jumped or that he threw his top half over the paper laying on his desk.

“Sally?”

“I need you to take over my clean duty.”

“Cleaning duty?”

“Yeah I got caught smoking in the girls.” He smirks at her.

“Wipe that off your face,” she says as her eyes harden. “Look just do it freak.”

“Yeah, alright.” He shrugs.

“Really?”

“Sure.”

An astonished smile blooms on her face, “Um, thanks.”

The teacher is entering, kids are finding their seats and Sherlock is delving into his Mind Palace.

Maybe it will have the answers he requires.

~

Reject. Murder. Mostly reject loops through his thoughts when the afternoon descends upon them.

This is inhuman. Can they make children do this?

He is currently beating two erasers together, trying to get resistant chalk particles off of them. Next he’ll have to take out the classrooms trash, least then he’ll be able to get outside.

He imagines he hates himself, deep down. There is no other reason for him to get his hopes up only to have them demolished in the next second. Not even by some outside force. It’s all his doing. He can’t really be blamed for this one, not when he had caught a glimpse of Victor walking through the courtyard. He had been with a younger looking girl, laughing and smiling. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking.

What moron leaves wood planks just out in the open?

Silver lining no one saw him kiss the tar, yay? Though the trash in his hand was now scattered about, Victor had held the door open for that girl. He rubs his forehead, there was a bump already forming, as he rushed to collect the debris. He tosses a paper ball into the bin, it misses completely.

He squats down to snatch it up but when he gets it in his hand he can’t think beyond smashing it back into the dirt below. He raises his hand and just like that he knows he looks foolish.

“What have I done wrong?” he whimpers, voice wavers. There’s a hot prickle behind his eyes, he takes a shuttering breath.  He’s caught off guard by the visitor on the other side of the iron gate.

“Mr. Sherlock!” He looks overs. “You.”

He’s advancing on the brown cat, grabbing it by the skin of its neck so they are face to face.

“You have some nerve.” He hisses in its whiskered face.

“Oh do you liked your gift?”

“NO!”

“But that’s impossible. The kingdom has been working day and night to make you happy!” The cat is cowering away from the heat that is pouring off him. It’s trying desperately to get out of the hold Sherlock has on him. Finally, he relents and little chub gushes, “Everyone thought the gifts were fantastic!”

“Fantastic for cats, you stupid little creep!” He backs up so he isn’t pressed up against the rods any longer. “Don’t you know anything? I don’t care about cattails, catnip doesn’t do anything for me and besides experiments I have no use for mice.”

“Oh dear, it seems there had been some miscommunication on our part,” he says as he bows towards him. “We are so sorry for this mistake.” He tilts his head in thought, “So embarrassing. The king shan’t be pleased.”

“Um, it’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It is, I’ve just been overwhelmed lately and I let my emotions get the better of me.” Sherlock turns to sit against the iron, his head makes a dull thud when it hits the metal. “Things have not been going great for me as of late.”

“Things? What sort?”

“Everything,” Sherlock whispers.

“I find that hard to believe, “the cat says as he sticks his head through the opening in the gate. “It does make sense on some level, even handsome boys must have problems too.”

Sherlock finds him zoning out until he hears, “Handsome?” A blush slips onto the high points of his cheeks, “That’s quite enough.”

“Not even close to enough.”

Sherlock is flustered. Compliments from a cat? This is a new. He guesses he can indulge just this once.

“The Kingdom of Cats has made a promise to not rest until you are completely satisfied.” The little thing sounds so adamant about the issue.

“Is there more coming?”

“Absolutely!”

Sherlock is shocked. He’s not sure he can survive more of this cats ‘gifts’. He looks at the cat not quite believing the words that are coming from his mouth. More would be insane.

“How would you feel about a personal tour of the magnificent King of Cats?”

“Really?”

“Oh yes!” He is waving his paws around again, much in the same way at last night. “You’ll love it! It’s incredible! Wonderful food and breathtaking scenery! And the entire kingdom is waiting to welcome you.”

Sherlock can’t quite fathom what he is hearing. Him going to a cat kingdom? A place not mere hours ago was invented by his subconscious. Now he is actually being giving the chance to visit it. See its citizens, taste its food. Could he really be this lucky? Would this just turn into another cruel twist of faith? Was this a chance he wanted to take?

“There’s one more thing,” he has calmed down again, “The king is so taken with you that he has decided to give you the most precious gift in the entire kingdom.”

Sherlock finds his eyes slide closed as he nods along to the cat talking.

“You will become his son-in-law and marry Prince Greg!”

Sherlock keeps nodding until the words actually sink in, “Excuse me?” He starts to shake his head, “Yeah, no. Don’t even think about trying that on me.” He leans away from where the cat is pressed against the robs again. “There is no way in hell I will be marrying a cat.”

“But the King is so smitten with you, in fact the entire royal family has fallen under your spell. Plus, the prince is brilliant!”

“He’s brilliant?”

“Hm-mm.”

Sherlock leans forwards and rest his elbow on his knee, his hand cups his chin as he starts to think. Some flowers beside him are shifting in the light breeze that is passing through, a whimsical look comes to his face as he speaks, “Who knows? Maybe I’ll fit in better with a bunch of cats.” A soft smile finds him, “Laying about all day, eating whatever you want.”

“You bet you can!”

“The sun being the only blanket you need when you want to nap, no more worrying about the stupid things in life.”

“Now you’re getting it!”

“But marrying a cat prince, that’s just ludicrous.” He laughs deep then. The idea is just so illogical that he can’t help himself. “Right, cat?”

When he goes to look at him the cat is already hurling himself up onto the top of the gate. Running along it to the roof the meets is at the end.

“Lovely! I shall go inform the King and we will come collect you tonight!” With that he’s scampering off.

“Hold on! I didn’t agree to that!” He tries to run but trips over his feet. A bruised tailbone is what he gets for the effort that and the sheer sense of panic that falls over him.

His stomach promptly turns to knots, a sweat breaks out over his body as he begins to shake. He struggles to get to his feet again, dread making him clumsy.

“Think Sherlock, think!” Expect he can’t, the fear is blocking all thoughts. His nerves are tingling; he can’t stand still. He begins to pace, hands running through his hair over and over again. Finally, he grips it and tugs until he yelps. He refuses to let it go.

“I have to do something! What can I do?” He can’t enough air in his lungs, he’s being to hyperventilate. He might pass out.  “They are going to seize me and carry me off. Kidnap me! Then I’ll have to marry a cat!”

That’s the magic phrase because it’s like he’s struck by lightning, vaulting into seeing it play out before his eyes. There he is, in a tux darker then the night sky, standing at an altar. Besides him stands that cat with the eyes of two different shades in a similar tux, only different is his is many sizes smaller. There’s another cat standing a few feet away from them, the priest. And oh god is he asking for the rings?

A blush lingers on his own face as a furry paw grasp his hand and slips on a gold band, sliding it on to his forth finger on his left hands. He watches in horror as he does the same. There’s cheering behind him, his mother is crying. He’s brother looks so proud he actually might hurl. When awareness is made he’s leaning down, lips puckered ready to seal this deal.

He shakes his head, willing the vision away, “I don’t want to marry a cat!” His fingernails dig into the soft skin of his under eye as he falls to his knees. He breaks down and finally allows hot tears to fall from his eyes.

_“Sherlock. Sherlock”_

Everything ceases movement around him when he hears it, “What?” He looks around trying to find who is calling out to him.

_“Sherlock, go to Baker Street. Find Baker Street.”_

He’s on his feet, whirling around trying to gain some clue as to what is going on, “This isn’t funny. Get the fuck out here right now, I am in no mood to play this game.”

_“They will help you there. Look for a large, ginger cat at Regent’s Park._

His heart was beating so fast that he was positive it would burst through his chest at any moment.

_“He will show you the way.”_

“A Cat at the park?”

_“Find the ginger cat and go to Baker Street, Sherlock. You’ll need their help.”_

He’s not proud about what he did next, which was throwing up behind a tree. He’s not proud but he did feel slightly more centered once everything is emptied out and laying is a mushy pile by the trees roots. Not much mind you, he really should look into eating more often.

He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth while pressing his dripping forehead to the rough bark on the tree.

“Baker Street?”, he whispered. Could whoever he found there help him out of this mess? He supposed that he didn’t really have a choice at this point, it was this or…’I now pronounce you husband and cat, you may no- ‘

Nope, stop, delete. Never let that cross your mind again.  

With a deep breath he pushed himself away from the truck that was keeping him upright. He clapped his hands together and gave a sharp nod.

“Ginger cat it is.”

He pivoted and began to walk towards the school building. If he was going to get anything done, he needed to get a move on now. Those cats were relentless after all.


	2. I stand here waiting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock decides that he is a fool for following yet another cat.

It was a pleasant enough day for this…adventure? Sure, why not. This was an adventure and Sherlock wanted to throw up again.

“Regent’s? Ginger?”

Could it get anymore vague? No really, couldn’t that voice have told him where to find this stupid cat. Frankly he was pretty much done with cats at this point, but he didn’t feel like he could find another solution to so problem, so ginger cat it is.

He had mulled over all his opinions and a lot of them involved going to someone for help and really there was already enough rumors that he was insane. He didn’t want any more whispers about him.

He stood at the opening of the park watching people stroll through the grounds, his keen eyes taking in the details of every person that dared to wander to close to him.

He observed a man answer his phone, eyes shifting left and right before he actually spoke. The hand not holding the device had yet to cease movement. The fingers curling and uncurling so fast that Sherlock could almost hear the joints popping. Gold band on said hand muted in the late afternoon sun.

“Married 3 years, having an affair, female spouse, male lover,” he spoke quietly to himself.

“You read the lover in the fingers did you not?”

“Deuced, but yes,” he said with a roll of his eyes. It took a moment for what has just occurred to sink it. When it did he found his brow furrowing.

“Wait.” He begins to search around, eyes lingering on every person that is within speaking distance. He’s turning, around and around. He knows he looks loony but he doesn’t care, he needs to find the person that was able to read that man as he did.

“Oh my, how long will you chase your tail?” The voice is mocking and is he’s not mistaken he thinks he can hear a smirk in the words. 

Finally, he stopped and let his eyes trail downwards, then he saw it. There standing a few inches above his ankle is a ginger cat and its fucking smirk up at him. He jumps back, nearly losing his balance and landing on his ass.

“Did I startle you?” The cat says, his pupils turn to slits as he sizes up Sherlock.

“W-w-what?” he stutters trying to make his mouth form letters, the cat tilts its head at him.

“Are you slow?”

“What? No!” He shouts as he attempts to straighten his jacket. “I just didn’t expect for you to be there. God knows you cats have been fucking with me all day.”

At this the cat begins to chuckle, shamelessly laughing in Sherlock’s face even though he’s nowhere near it. Sherlock’s eyes narrow at the creature.

His teeth grind together as he addresses the tubby fuzz ball, “That’s quite enough fatty.”

“Oh insults so soon?” The cat says through his laughter. “And here I thought you might be above that; suppose I was wrong.” The fur above his left eye slightly elevates. Eyebrow raise, really? These cats are going to send him to the madhouse.

“I don’t need to take this from something that licks its own ass,” he says coolly already taking a few steps away from the annoying tub of flab.

“Is that so?” It sounds like it couldn’t care less whether or not Sherlock walks out of this park. Why would he care? He’s not the one that needs the help, he could go back to napping on the grass or waiting for the bakery to throw out the day old sweets. He is absolutely content with watching this twig of a human walk away.

With a sigh Sherlock gets back into the cat’s space, he can’t run away, he knew walking into this he couldn’t. Still it would be nice to grab this asshole by his neck scruff and shake him for all he’s worth.

“I need help and I was told that you could show me the way.”

“I might, depends on the help you seek,” he says, words sound like they have been dipped in honey. Sickly sweet, Sherlock might vomit again.

“Well I’m looking for Baker Street,” he says quietly, likes it’s a secret they must keep between themselves and the way the cat’s eyes narrow it just might be.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I need to find it before tonight.” The cat glares at him then, the world moves around them as critter evaluates him.

“Very well, “he moans, like this is the last thing he wants to be doing. Sherlock can’t fault him for feeling that way, seeing as the same feeling is flowing through him at this exact moment.

The cat doesn’t bother to indicate that Sherlock should follow, it just starts to run in a direction and presumes he will have sense enough to tag along.

Of course Sherlock does. He’s not a fool after all

~

He’s not sure how to feel about the path the hairy pumpkin takes him on.

It has started when they had taken a sharp right out of the park, Sherlock had collided into a rather sweaty runner. After this he was lead into traffic, granted there weren’t many cars on the road but still the sodding light had been green. He had to jump a bin next, it was either that or topple into a flower display, casting a glance into the shops windows verified the shop keep would not appreciate that.

“Is this because I called you fat?” He huffed trying to stop the burning in his lung, he could hear his blood rushing in his own ears.

Going down an alley was the most decent thing the cat had done thus far, it was wide enough for there to be space between him and the dumpsters. Even with the oily puddles staining his shoes it was a nice change. The cat continued running, not even looking back to make sure Sherlock was still there, cocky twat.

He was hopping a fence that ran along the alley, there were people in the yard the fence surrounded, this will be interesting. When Sherlock landed on the other side you saw the cat getting fawned by two children, they screamed when they noticed him, not the best reaction. With a quick dash he was through the gate and back on the street.

How much longer was he to follow, he pondered as the cat took him down yet another alley, this one ending a platform that allowed the two of them jump onto a large tin roof, their steps making the metal rattle with every step. There were stairs next, a rail jump and a narrow spilt between two stone builds.

How the cat was able to fit was a mystery that even Sherlock was convenient enough he could solve, how he was going to fit was an even bigger one. Still he was determined to he rose his bag above his head, sucked in his nonexistent gut, turned sideways and wiggled his way towards the light at the end.

A sigh of relief left him when the ending became a bit wider, he was almost there, a few more feet. He didn’t admittedly exit, no he pressed back against the wall behind him and peered out. Quick feet had permitted him to witness the ginger cat fleeting form as it ran towards an archway, before his eyes he watched it pass through and immediately stand on two legs.

“Great.” He muttered as he lowered his arms and followed suit.

~

When Sherlock actually does make it up the wide stairs and through the entrance, whatever it was it wasn’t tiny house. Ok, not tiny but when they only came up to about his bellybutton he’s not sure how else to describe them.

This town? Square? Village? Impossible to be 100% on what to call it, but what Sherlock does know is it’s quaint. Adorable even. They from a circle, all of them painted a different color. Mini doors and windows facing the large stone pillar that stands erect at the center. There is a stone crow that sits atop the pillar, it looks proud, like protecting this place is his responsibility.

These houses are lovely, but Sherlock didn’t come here for them, he came for help. It takes longer then he would like to drag his eyes away from the pint-sized structures. When he finally manages it they survey the cobble stone floor, and find the ginger cat again.

He is checking a teeny mailbox that sits in front of the house that is the exact middle. It looks like he is not pleased with the letter that are in his paws, if the snort is anything to go by it’s all together possible that it’s junk mail. He eventually stuffs it back into the box, rather deal with it another time.

He does keep the newspaper that was amongst the envelopes, he carries it over to the wicker chair that blocks the front window. He is ignoring Sherlock.

“Excuse me?”

The cat shakes the papers and turns a page.

“You’re insufferable,” he groans as he scratches at his hair line. “Look I don’t think you understand what it happening here.”

The cat continues to pretend he isn’t there.

“Those psychotic cats are going to come and take me away. They are going to force me to marry their fucking prince, even though I told them no.” He is shaking now, there is sweating beading along the skin of his forehead. A vein is thumping against the skin of his neck. “I was told to find you. You were to lead me to Baker Street, to help. But you just took me on some clusterfuck of a path, and now you’re just sitting there like the useless cock you are!”

Something in the window behind the cat catches his eye, he stops his rant to take a closer look. It’s a figurine. A small doll of what looks like a feline. Great another cat, but there’s something different about this one. When his face is nearly pressed against the glass the toys eyes seem to flicker towards his. Sherlock stumbles back.

The sun is disappearing beyond the horizon, as is sinks below the houses roof it hits the windows of all of them. They start to shine, glitter even, like a hundred mirrors all pointing towards the house with the doll.

The light is blinding; he sees the ginger squint is eyes

“John,” he sighs, “that’s quite enough, no one’s impressed.”

It ended as quick as it hard started, the sun vanished and the street grew dark. The house came alive, all at once every came on, miniature sconce flickered to life, and that was all it took for the two wooden doors to swing open.

Sherlock’s mouth fell open as he watched HIM step through the opening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't nearly as long as the last one but I wanted to get something done before the weekend hit. I think I'm going to add more to it, after I watch all the new Episodes of Orange is the new Black.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I was so mean to Sherlock in this chapter. I'll be nicer to him in the later ones. I'll also be adding more tags as I go.


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